Yes, But Does It Make You Evil.

Loud music in the morning seems to soothe most everything. And this morning I was without. I was sitting on the bus and all of a sudden I was gripped by something utterly unfamiliar. The sounds of voices on the morning commute. Painfully fractured yet nonetheless confident Spanish mostly. Some dude on a mobile having a really loud conversation with his Mom about something which should probably remain private even amongst strangers, and these two UCLA chicks talking about a class which I'm sure they didn't understand. I reached for something to make it stop, and then I realized. The iPod was still at home. Fuck. I was going to have to listen to these people all the way down Wilshire Boulevard.

As we jostled our way down Wilshire, the benefits of car ownership seemed to pounce around in my mind. But as annoying as most people are when they are speaking, they are quite something different when they are operating a motor vehicle. More lethal than piercing. More negligently homicidal than shrill. I imagined one such passenger (who was holding her iPhone 4 inches away from her face and moving her lips as she tried to make out the images) driving down the 405 and quickly concluded that for the moment it was best to be in the largest vehicle on the road and that it be operated by someone else.

I hopped off the bus and skipped into Starbucks. The barista is a cranky hot fucker who works his ass off and he is the only one. Some useless dick behind the counter started talking to this other guy wearing a Nixon watch. They both really love Nixon watches, and I thought, Jesus, here we go. Then I did a double take, and I really wondered what the fuck is up with all these black dudes dressing like they're WASPs. You would have thought this little shit was off to Cowes Week if it weren't for his fucked up neon green watch the size of a boa constrictor wrapped around his wrist.

But, once my coffee was ready I was over it and I just went ahead and blamed Mad Men, since that seems to be the cause, source, whatever, of most of the fucked up shit thats been bugging me lately. There may be more on that subject later.

Nixon fucking watches. Unbelievable.

Bring It Now. Bring It Always.

There really is precious little time in the day to stop and tell people exactly what their deficiencies are, but sometimes we do try. Just yesterday some ridiculously sized overeater with pulled back hair armed with a slushy in one hand and a dizzying assortment of keychains and school IDs in the other just marched right into me while I was standing in line for the bus. As though I weren't a tangible physical object I motherfucking thought she thought she was in a Twilight movie thinking she could telaport through shit.

Upon realizing I was neither a hologram nor a figment of her undeniably vivid imagination she apologized profusely. It had been a long day of doing really mundane things and I was in no mood to be assaulted with squishy overfed girl breasts so I clipped back to her that it would be impossible for the driver not to notice her and speed away without her so she could just calm down and queue up like everyone else or at least like me.

It's pointless trying to explain common manners to the "man-cow on the street" and like I mentioned who has the time. Or the patience. A steely disposition and a well stuffed tote serve you much better out there amongst the hustle and the mindless bustle of the rumbling work-a-day herd.

All The Normal Things.

So yesterday was kind of a good day. Epic really. I just up and discovered that if I just say "What?" in a somewhat shrill tone, furrow my brow, and otherwise feign confusion, I can get out of doing any kind of work whatsoever. They just sort of decide to not bother with me, and I can go back to doing other shit that doesn't involve them.

I tend to fuck up a lot of shit and recycle a bunch of really expensive color copies, but hey yo, I'm a temp and I just don't know any better. Deal.

This is my future. Kiss it.

I'm A Festival. Now Move.

Anyway, the Westwood Chronicles true nuff and yes. Sorta just goes to show that wherever you go shit can get more stupider. Over at lunch the other day I just about had to "stand my ground" with some helpless bitches who were simply defeated by nothing more challenging than a cheese selection and were holding up an entire line of hungry would-be diners in the process. One wondered whether it was the notion of cheese, words, or simply the letter "k" which was causing them the most problems.

And I really like how you're the one who is made to seem out of whack when you draw this lack of mental activity to anyone's attention. Like somehow demanding slightly more than sub-literate mumbling from your fellow humans is just a bridge too far. Like we've all somehow paid too much for this ticket on this lifeboat of monosyllabic mediocrity and we had all just better keep hush. No. Not feeling it. Not in the least. I expected ass little working so close to an institution of Californian higher education, but this is a little beyond. I'm actually sitting here wondering whether my tote is too big for work. And I only raise this question because I honest to God intend to hit someone with it.

Lates.

Make These Things Invisible And Delight.

So I don't think I've mentioned anything about Joey Votto. He is an exceptionally talented baseball player. He doesn't play for the Yankees, but that is just a matter of time. Perhaps a matter of a year. He's Canadian so obviously he has a personality like dried paint, but so nice to look at.
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So no more unemployment, but hopefully only for a brief while. Just until the trial date or settlement. Settlement yum.

I would say that the Westwood chronicles are about to start, but there are no other carbies working with me. No 1 of 80 no none of that. Although there was a paralegal who said I probably had no idea what a native image was. As usual nothing that came to mind by way of reply was suitable for work or even polite society for that matter so I did what I usually do and just stood there is stunned silence kinda fiddling with a button on my cardigan.

Later I told the dude I had never seen Office Space which is entirely true, and that pretty much ruined his day. I just skipped to lunch where I had a tofu Philly sandwich that I may just be completely in love with. And something called jalapeno catsup which is honestly better than any other condiment save Colman's. Which I keep mother fucking rapture preparedness suplies of by the way.

The Solution Was Never The Point.

Dirk Bikkembergs jersey I scooped up for $2 @ Out of the Closet. Quite matter of fact really, I even had to fish it out of a box heading back to the other charity shop. There may be a lot more of this...

I wasn't sure, but green is my favorite color, and summertime may just call for some Crayola Live. Comfy, easy & thrifty.

Is There Another Moment You Prefer?

Another antique store find. A few months ago I found this vintage Gucci cigarette case with match striker, but given that I quit smoking years ago I thought the price ($40) a bit too dear.

Well my Mom happened upon it a while back, and she knew I fancied it & and she is really good at dickering, so she was able to quite nearly steal it. Anyway, mine now, and it should be fine for kitchen matches or this or that.